Hunting for Blood
by WishIWasAussie
Summary: A Red John, hostage-type situation, mostly Jane's POV, Jane Pain including Lisbon and near torture but nothing extreme. RR harshly, open to suggestions. Rated T for intensity. Letting readers tie-up loose ends.
1. Chapter 1

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**This was an idea I had, partially inspired by Ebony10's "Closer" (.net/s/5691843/1/Closer) story. **

**I simply miss having Red John around, and think he needs to make an appearance soon, or this wonderful series might lose people to... well, to boredom =[**

**Anywho, I'm not really sure where this is going, but wanted to give it a try. Kind of in Jane's POV...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, just a little obsessed with Patrick, but who can blame a girl? **

**Constructive criticism is GREATLY appreciated, and I would LOVE to hear more than comments consisting of "Cool" or "This is good." I'm a decent writer, slightly a perfectionist, so you're more than welcome to tell me what I'm doing wrong. =] **

**Oh yeah, and please ENJOY!**

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Chapter 1

_"Rust... mildew... crumbling Sheetrock..." _Patrick Jane observed his surroundings without opening his eyes. _"Grease... sweat... earth..."_ each scent attacked his nose as he lay face-down on the concrete floor, sand and small shards of glass digging into his cheek._ "Dust... stale water... rotting wood... blood." _His eyes flew open when his brain recognized that smell. He stared at a blank, unfinished wall, black mold running up from the floor. Before moving, he checked himself mentally. _"Pain on my left ear from that punch... elbows banged up from the fences... ankle twisted from being pushed through the window... Window." _ He felt the glass stick to his cheek as he lifted his head. Blood and droplets of sweat caked his face with dirt. He was positioned with his feet toward the window, head furthest away, his body parallel with the side wall. The small room was lit only by sunlight pouring through the freshly shattered window, eight feet up the wall. A golden stream caught millions of dust particles. He moved his head to the right, scraping his chin on the rough floor. There were no doors or other windows on any of the walls. _"The window's the only way in or out of here."_ His heart skipped when his eyes fell on the back of a petite form, unmoving and covered in glass.

"Teresa!" he breathed out, nearly a growl. He cleared his throat as the events of the last ten minutes flooded his mind. _"Red John... we all followed up a lead... found him in an abandoned house, empty neighborhood... I followed him in... Teresa tried to stop me... Cho and Rigsby calling for back-up... chase... Teresa behind me... followed him outside, over a fence... over another fence, to an old shed. I caught up... my fist found his jaw... Teresa screaming my name... his fist found my ear... I saw Teresa pull out her gun, run to Red John. He swung, she fell, disappeared... I swung, he pushed, I lost my balance... pain..." _

He stared at the back of Lisbon's head. _"Teresa." _He took in a ragged breath, and let out an unsteady sigh. He moved his arms underneath him, ignoring the flashes of pain as glass dug into his palms. He pulled his knees under himself and slowly sat up, fighting nausea as his ears rang.

"Teresa," he called to her, leaning down and crawling about four feet to reach her. She had landed on her left side, one arm underneath her, the other out in front of her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently shook her. Bending his head down and holding his breath, he held his left ear to her lips. _"Please, oh, please..."_ He felt the smallest hint of her breath on his cheek, and immediatly the tension in his body released in a heavy sigh as he closed his eyes.

He felt Lisbon stir as he rested his forehead on her shoulder. He heard a faint moan escape her lips. He sat up and studied the side of her face he could see, gently pulling away her hair; one scratch above her right eye, one on her cheek, both looking bad. She let out another breathy moan.

He leaned in and whispered, "Teresa?" He watched her wrinkle her forehead, in both pain and confusion.

"Jane?"

"I'm right here." He gently squeezed her shoulder. He saw her eye lids flutter as she struggled to open them, the sunlight directly falling on her face. He moved his other hand to shade her eyes. She finally forced them open. Jane waited as she lifted her head to look up, and she met his gaze. Though his face was expressionless, he couldn't hide the feelings of worry, relief, frustration, compassion, and apprehension that filled the startling blue of his eyes.

Lisbon frowned. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He continued to look into her face, studying the fresh scratches. He started to bite his bottom lip as he realized how much pain she could be in, but caught himself. _"She's not even hinting that it hurts."_

"Red John?"

He looked away, up to the window. "Gone."

"Mm." She started to push her self up, and Jane grabbed her arm to help her. He felt her body tense as she tried to move her left arm, the one underneath her. She stopped.

"What's wrong?" His heart began to sink.

"Jane, I think my arm is broken." She rolled over onto her stomach, "Let me try to sit up..." and she pulled her knees underneath her. She managed to push herself up with her one good arm and come to a seated position in front of Jane. He swallowed hard as she studied her arm, finding the fractures. He tried not to wince every time she did as she pressed on the tiny bones in her wrist.

She looked back at the consultant, showing pain only with her eyes. "It's my wrist. I need to get it looked at." He saw her face change as she realized the situation. She looked around the room. "Where are we?"

"We're under ground." He looked around with her at the blank, mold-covered walls. "It's the shed he lead us to. I have a feeling Red John wanted us... wanted me in here."

"So that window is the only way out?" Lisbon nodded at the window.

Jane felt her mentally shrug off his previous words. _"Good ol' Lisbon, staying focused on the current situation." _He responded to her: "Looks that way."

"Do you have your cell phone? I left mine in the car."

"Mine must have fallen out of my pocket."

Lisbon sighed heavily. "Well, help me up."

Jane pushed himself off the floor and shook off the nausea. He bent down and took Lisbon's good hand, pulling her to her feet.

They both looked up to the glass-less window. A shadow moved in front, blocking out the evening sunlight.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Cho? Rigsby?" Lisbon called to the figure. She and Jane walked toward the window, relieved to be found. A startling chuckle reached their ears.

"Hello, Teresa. Hello, Patrick." A face appeared, a silver outline around the silhouette obscuring his features.

Jane's face twisted in rage as he realized who that malicious voice belonged to. He ran under the window. "Red John!" He watched helplessly as the man lifted a heavy piece of plywood over the window, perfectly cut. He turned to Lisbon and stared at her, his face half filled with rage, half with something that resembled fear.

"Please enjoy your stay." Another harsh chuckle rang out as Red John pushed the wood over the window frame. The room went black.

"Red John!" Jane growled at the top of his lungs at the window. He could not see his hands in front of his face. "Let us out! Let Lisbon out!" He pounded the sound-proofed walls with his fist. "It's ME you want! Red John! Stop this!"

His demanding growls changed to frustrated requests. "Please, let her go!" He remembered the kind of man he was dealing with. "Please..." and he gave up his pitiful pleading. In the blackness, he could feel Lisbon listening to him and felt her inch toward him.

_"Lisbon..." _He thought of her and rested his head on the wall. A flash of red filled his vision. _"Lisbon..." _Another flash filled his mind, this one of his bedroom door. The letter. _"Lisbon..." _The face above his bed... he involuntarily recalled his past. The weight of those memories, of the situation, of what might happen to Lisbon fell on him like a ton of bricks. He lost all his strength and leaned his back on the wall, sliding down to sit under the window. He sat in silence, trapped in his own thoughts; his vengeful, dejected thoughts.

"Jane...?" Teresa's whisper snapped him out of his stupor.

"Lisbon..." he whispered from the floor. He fought an overwhelming feeling of remorse that threatened to bring tears to his eyes. "I'm sorry." He heard the agent move to his left and slide down to sit next to him. He felt her hand search around for his. He welcomed the feeling of her fingers wrapping around his and squeezing.

"You have nothing to apologize for, so stop it. We'll get out of here. Cho is on his way now." She let go of his hand.

He knew how much she needed to simply think and be encouraged at the moment, but his thoughts of the practically unavoidable disaster that awaited them distracted him. "Yes, but..." he was interrupted.

"Seriously, you can apologize _after_ we get out of here. So, stop your whining, Jane." Her vocal inflections were bordering on sarcasm, and Jane let a smile creep to his lips. He knew that's what she wanted him to do.

"Yes, ma'am," he retaliated with his best military impression. Though there was absolutely no light, he knew she was wearing a fresh smirk. "So, shall we try to get out once again, or sit here and wait for things to get worse?"

"Well, being that I didn't hear anything that would indicate Red John secured that plywood to the wall, we might as well try to get up there and knock it away."

"Sounds like a plan." Jane shook off the weight in his mind and lifted himself up, silently offering Lisbon a hand. When he realized she couldn't see his outstretched arm, he spoke. "Need a hand?"

"Thanks." Lisbon grabbed his arm and he pulled her up in one tug.

"My pleasure."

"So, how do you want to do this?" Lisbon looked in the direction from which Jane's voice was coming.

"Well, you're getting on my shoulders, no question about it." He slowly walked up to the wall and knelt down, patting his shoulders to give her a signal.

"But I only have one good arm..." She had been holding her wrist to her chest the entire time.

Jane thought for a moment. "You'll be high enough to get decent leverage, you should only need one."

Satisfied with that answer, she agreed to climb onto his shoulders. "All right, let's go then."

Jane gave another audible signal by patting his shoulders, and then smiled to himself. "I just had a thought," he said lightly.

"Hm?" Lisbon responded as she reached for him, running her hand over his face, nearly poking him in the eye.

Jane continued: "I feel like a wild pig that was chased into a pit, like in old-fashioned boar hunting..." He felt her feel for his shoulder and steady herself against the wall.

"Well," she nearly chuckled as she leaned on his back, ready to lift herself up, "we're smarter than pigs, and I don't intend on this being my death-trap. And I'm pretty sure _we_ were the hunters."

Jane grinned at her never-failing spunk. He breathed in deeply as he felt her move to climb up. A sharp smell reached his nose. "Lisbon, do you smell that?"

"What?" Lisbon breathed in and gasped in horror. "Jane," she said in a tone that chilled him. "It's sleeping gas!" She disbanded the plan as a ray of orange light fell into the room; the plywood had been moved a few inches, just enough for Red John to let his voice trail into the room.

The killer spoke. "That's correct, Teresa." He paused to take breath outside as more gas filled the room. "Looks like _I _am the hunter today."

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**Now I'm REALLY not sure how far I want to go with this fic. I might just stop here, since my mind does not think as dark as this could actually go... What say YOU? Press on or consider it a sort-of "one-shot" piece?**

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	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the RRs, especially to Tigerlily124. You all have spurred me on to finish this, so here is the third installment... **

Chapter 3

Jane tensed his muscles as he began to come-to. His head ached once again, forcing him to keep his eyes tightly shut. His body was even more sore, and he could feel every bruise mocking him as he became more aware. He was sitting, wrists bound and strapped to the arms of a wooden chair. His shoes had been removed; he could feel lush carpet between his toes. He breathed in to wake himself up, then stopped mid-breath.

It was all too familiar.

From the way his breath dully echoed off the walls, he realized the room must be small and packed with furniture. Still unable to open his eyes, he lifted his head and leaned back. The back of the chair was against something, and as he moved it the "something" sounded with light clangs and rattles. He breathed in again, eyes still closed; that smell... from the back of his mind, a giggle caught his attention. His imagination swept him away; he felt a soft touch on his cheek, a sweet whisper filled his ear...

Delicate fingers played with his hair...

Strawberry lips met his...

Suddenly, a shadowy tint of red obscured his memories. He tried to hold onto his thoughts of his wife and the welcome emotions they brought to him. He felt control slip away with them. He was being robbed of his memories by visions stained with blood. He breathed in.

The smell. RED.

The door. RED.

The letter. RED.

His heart beat faster as he realized where he was sitting. It was as if the room began shrinking, enveloping him in desolation. He still could not bring himself to open his eyes, not because of nausea, but because he already knew what he would see in front of him.

A small, familiar moan floated to him from somewhere ahead of him; someone was in his bedroom with him. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes, first gazing down at his feet, the carpet. He forced his gaze to move to the legs of the bed, up the frame, and to the wall above the bed. He stared back at the painted face, a triumphant smile mocking him from his seat. His stomach churned. The furniture was all there. HIS furniture. He couldn't find his breath. The nightstand, the bed, the upturned lamp illuminating the face. Even the window blinds and curtains were put up and drawn back just as they had been the night he came home. It had all returned. His eyes blurred and closed, but the face was still there, smirking at him.

Before Jane let himself slip, he gazed down at the woman in the bed. His recognition of Lisbon, laying helplessly tied to the frame, became his only focus. He blinked a few times, bit his lip, shook his head, determined to regain his composer if only to find a way to get her out of the mess he had made.

He put all his attention on her, knowing that even if all else failed, she could keep him going, make him press on. He set his eyes on her. She was wearing a baby-pink, lacy night gown that reached her knees; once his wife's. He clenched his jaw, then shook off the feelings to continue making sure Lisbon was okay. Her feet were bare. The scratches on her face had been cleaned and dressed with small band-aids. Her broken wrist had also been wrapped, and a make-shift cast covered her hand and lower arm. She was tied by only her good arm and her left leg, both loose enough to allow comfort as she slept involuntarily. Pillows propped her up against the frame. She had been rested ontop of the familiar comforter, still faintly and forever blood stained.

He gazed directly above her again, frowning at the tell-tale face. Jane grunted and looked away, turning his attention to his own bound wrists and ankles. He was still wearing his three-piece suit, minus the shoes and socks. He looked back at the dresser behind him, the handles being the source of the gentle clanging earlier. It had been placed in its old spot in the room and re-decorated perfectly. Five family photos stuck between the miror and its frame, his wife's jewelry box, a hairbrush, his old wallet he had just replaced the morning before it all happened... Everything was there, but there was nothing in reach that would help him out of the ropes. He sighed and looked at Lisbon once more, deciding to try and wake her.

He cleared his throat. "Lisbon?"

She didn't stir, still under the effects of the sleeping gas. He tried again: "Lisbon!" Still no response. _"C'mon," _he thought, _"you have to get up, get out of here before..." _he didn't let his mind finish his thought. He needed to wake her. He pressed his feet into the floor and leaned his chair back, banging the dresser and making the handles rattle. He rocked back and forth, moving the dresser with each push, trying to knock the jewelry box off the top and make more noise.

"Lisbon!" he called again, still banging his chair against the dresser. He saw her stretch and open her eyes.

"Jane?" She looked down and saw him staring at her with half a smile, then realization set in. "Jane-- you're tied--we're in-- all the stuff--I'm dressed--" she paused and let the shock wear off. "Are you okay?"

Jane huffed and frowned. "More or less..." his eyes trailed up again to the face. Lisbon followed his gaze. She frowned and looked back at him. His eyes were losing that normal sparkle.

"Jane, look at me," she commanded. His empty eyes gazed toward her, but his mind stayed with the face. Lisbon called to him again: "Jane. Patrick listen to me." He blinked and bit his lip in attention. "Jane, I need you to focus. We need to get out of here."

He involuntarily let his face twist in anger. "I know we do! You think I'm stupid?" His frustration could not be contained. He breathed heavily, looking at his bound wrists and trying to find the last shred of composure he had left in him. He felt Lisbon staring at him.

"I'm sorry," he said without looking up. They both let silence bounce off the walls for a few moments.

"Jane..." Lisbon called delicately. "I need you." At those words, he looked up, a new expression of determination on his face. He nodded.

"Jane, is there any way you can get over to me?"

"I could try..."

The bedroom door swung open, abruptly ending their plans. Red John stood in the doorway, holding a menacing knife.

"I wouldn't _try_ anything if I were _you_."

**So? I have an idea of how this will end, and it will end very shortly. I know, sad day =/ **

**Please RR HARSHLY. The more critical, the better.**


	4. Chapter 4

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**This chapter took me a long time to write, as I wanted a certain effect. As I wrote, I had a playlist on repeat consisting of these Yann Tiesren compositions: "Compine D'Un Autre Ete," and "Sur Le Fil" (from movie Amelie) and "Childhood" and "Mother's Journey" (from album Good Bye Lenin), and "Naval" (from album Tabarly). Look them up for the full effect.**

**Please read slowly, so you don't miss anything.**

**And RR like there's no tomorrow!**

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Chapter 4

Patrick Jane looked up at Red John, and they stared at each other for a few moments, reading each other and sensing their emotional state. He was dressed in black slacks and a black dress shirt, as if he were attending a funeral. His eyes were dark with severity. Jane watched as a cruel smirk spread across the killer's otherwise calm face.

"I did not think you would be so easily taken down, Mr. Jane." He frowned. "I'm disappointed in you."

Jane looked away, focusing on his own knees, speechless in the presence of his enemy and equal. He sat silently, unmoving, feeling the penetrating stare of Red John, and the sensitive stare of Lisbon.

Red John spoke again. "Are you enjoying your accommodations?" He swept his arm out to indicate the entire bedroom. "I know this room holds special memories for you..." he moved toward Jane. Bending down to hold his head near Jane's, and lowering his voice to a malicious tone, he continued. "I do hope you are enjoying them."

Jane turned his face away as the man's words pierced his spirit. He closed his eyes. The face. RED. He breathed out until his lungs were completely exhausted, echoing the fresh state of his soul. He slumped his shoulders and relaxed into his restraints.

"Mr. Jane? Have I said something that angers you?"

Lisbon saw the change as her consultant's determination faded into the darkness of the bedroom. She let out an instinctive grunt.

At that sound, Jane took in an intense breath and swung his head around to face Red John, his tenacity returning. He tightened his fists. He narrowed his eyes and stared into those that watched so many innocent people die.

He spoke through clenched teeth. "_Angry_ doesn't come close. I'm disappointed in _you._"

"I see. I'll try again." Red John stood, keeping his gaze fixed on Jane's face. "Fury, rage, bitterness...?" He took a step toward the bed.

Jane's eyes opened infinitesimally wider and glanced quickly to the knife still in Red John's hand. "Getting closer."

"Vengeance?" He took another step toward Lisbon. The corner of his mouth turned up as he looked at her.

Jane watched as the killer moved to Lisbon. He held his fists tighter, taking in short breaths as his heart began racing. He forced his face to remain unchanged as distress wrapped around him. "Warmer..."

"Spite..." Red John moved to Lisbon's side, resting his hands on the bed and leaning over her. Jane swallowed hard as the man looked her up and down. "Repulsion?" He moved the knife to her, stroking her face lightly with the blade. She tensed, but did not lose her composure.

Jane felt his eyes well up as he digested the scene in front of him. He glanced up and stared at the sneering face on the wall. He blinked it away. RED. His eyes blurred with stinging tears. He blinked them away. RED. His lungs wouldn't work correctly. His vision darkened as he stared at Lisbon, her face showing resolve, but her eyes filled with desperation.

She glanced away from Red John, pleading with her eyes. "Jane...?" Her weakened voice trembled.

He stared back at her but could barely see through his tears. He let his body heave in sobs as he looked on. Jane watched the killer's face change to depraved elation as he looked back and forth at the CBI agents, feeding off their agony. That cruel expression made Jane's stomach almost retch in disgust. He sniffled but said nothing. There was nothing he could say that would change the inevitable.

Jane watched Lisbon crease her forehead as she tried to find words: with a knife to her throat, she might as well _try_ to talk her way out of the situation. "Red John..." she stopped; no more words formed in her mind, realizing what her consultant had long known.

Jane sobbed again, meeting Lisbon's eyes. He managed to whisper a broken apology. "I'm sorry." They both understood.

Red John lifted the knife to her throat, watching Jane intently as he dragged the blade gently across her soft skin, leaving a thin crimson line in its wake.

"_NO_!" Jane screamed and strained against the ropes around his wrists and ankles.

Shrieks and growls of "_TERESA_!" burst from his mouth as his body lurched and heaved in sobs.

Tears uncontrollably rained down his cheeks and fell off his chin. Saliva coated his tongue as he wailed the name.

"_TERESA_!"

Both Red John and the face jeered at him.

BLOOD.

The face.

RED.

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**I hope this was as powerful as I was aiming. Don't worry, I won't leave you hanging... too long.**

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	5. Chapter 5

**My sincerest apologies for the tremendous length of time it has taken me to finish and publish this chapter. I am truly sorry.**

"Mr. Jane!" Red John yelled at the consultant, doubled over in his chair as he struggled to breath through his sobs. The ropes had burned into his skin, wrists oozing blood onto the arms of the squeaking chair.

"Mr. Jane, compose yourself!"

Jane tried to calm his heavy breathing so he could hear the killer's voice. His ears rang as if a train had thundered through his head. He tensed every muscle in his body to hear and focus on the scene in front of him.

"Jane," Lisbon's tiny voice trailed to the consultant. He jerked his head up in surprise and looked intensely at her. He saw her pale face, fear in her eyes, pain in her furrowed brow, a tinge of relief on her lips. "Jane, I'm all right." He sighed heavily, relaxing his body slightly and smiling inwardly, keeping a frown on his lips. They locked eyes as they tried to read each others mind, trying to make sense of the insane act the man was doing.

Red John turned a disappointed glance to Jane. "I'm not going to kill her. Not quite yet." He looked at Lisbon, who was still gazing at Jane. "I was simply testing you, Mr. Jane." He looked at the consultant, still gazing back at Lisbon. "I knew you were close to her. Now I know just how much you love her." Jane grew uncomfortable at those words, breaking his gaze and looking down nervously.

"That was too easy," Red John shook his head. "I was hoping for more of a challenge. Now I'm truly disappointed." He turned to Lisbon again, touching with artist's hands the scratch he had made on her throat and softly smearing the trickle of blood. She couldn't control her flinching.

Red John let a sinister grin grace his lips. "She IS beautiful. I understand what you see in her." He touched his fingers to her cheek. "I think she looks particularly lovely in this nightgown. Don't you, Jane?"

Jane glared at the killer. He let out a huff.

Red John lifted the knife to Lisbon's throat again, holding the point to her chin, forcing her to look up and away from Jane. He gazed at her throat.

"Though you are already a beautiful creation, I have a lot of work to do." He looked at the consultant, still gazing back at Lisbon. "I plan on turning your Teresa into a masterpiece, and I want _you_ to be judge."

Jane's ears rang louder in response to those words. Tears once again blurred his vision.

"Oh, Mr. Jane, don't get me wrong," Red John smirked at the consultant. "You yourself are to be my _pièce de résistance_, a complete actualization of my artistry."

The killer moved swiftly to Jane's side and spoke with a wide, triumphant grin. "The world will know of, and remember, me for your beautifully painted death for many years to come."

Jane looked up with a shadow of relief at the fact that Red John was no longer thinking of Lisbon's torture. He let his jaw hang loose, unable to spare any of the strength keeping himself from sobbing again. He locked eyes with the killer and they exchanged looks of insolence.

A third man's voice interrupted the stare and responded to Red John's boasting.

"Over my dead body." Kimball Cho held a gun to Red John's head.

**I just can't bring myself to kill any of the team, I love them too much. The next installment will most likely be the last.**


	6. Chapter 6

Jane blinked. He whipped his head around and took in a deep breath at the sight of his dear friend and colleage, Cho. He noticed the determination and concern creased into the face of the man. He followed his tensed arms to the gun, and followed the barrel to the skull of Red John. He watched the killer grip the knife tightly, a new smirk spreading across his face.

Jane could not digest the scene fast enough to warn Cho, and looked on in horror as Red John ducked underneath the gun, turned, and threw the knife haphazardly into Cho's side. Even with his training to withstand pain, Cho instinctively doubled over and dropped his gun as Red John nearly flew passed him out the door, knocking him onto the floor at Jane's feet.

"Cho!" Jane yelled as he watched the agent's white shirt and strong hands try to hold in the blood. The red stain spread quickly, and Cho, with broken breaths, held back his tears.

"Jane. Lisbon," he nearly grunted the names as he gathered his thoughts and shoved the pain from his mind. He slowly sat up, kneeling at Jane's side, and pulled one of his hands from his side to reach for the knife. He swiftly and carefully moved it to Jane's wrist and slid it under the ropes, letting the blade do the work. He dropped it as his body involuntarily trembled, and moved his hand back to his side.

"Cho, hang in there." Jane tried to talk calmly as he reached down for the knife and undid rope binding his other wrist. He knelt down infront of Cho and placed one hand on his shoulder, the other on his side, trying his best to help.

"Help Lisbon, " Cho commanded as he looked into Jane's eyes. Jane watched the agent swallowed hard and his eyes gloss over as the pain became unbearable; his eyes closed as he forced himself to stay conscious. Jane grunted and grabbed the knife, bounding to the bed and Lisbon's side. He looked up.

The Face. RED.

He forced himself to look down at Lisbon; he glanced at her neck. Blood.

"Jane." Lisbon's authoritative voice caught his attention again.

"I'm here," he managed to whisper as he shook the Face out of his mind. Its stare bored into his skull as his hands trembled. He lifted his empty hand to her neck and gingerly placed his fingers near the oozing scratch. He bit his chapped lips, his stomach turning at the sight of her soft skin injured so easily.

"Jane." Lisbon's voice trailed through his mind, sounding far away. "Hurry, Cho doesn't have much time." The urgency in her voice snapped him out of his stupor.

"I know," he said softly, his voice cracking. With the knife, he began working at the rope that bound her wrist to the bed. He took in a deep breath as the last strand broke against the blade. Lisbon sat up and and held her wrist, rubbing gently. As she moved, her scratch broke open, oozing down her chest. Jane stood uncomfortably watching the blood. He took another deep breath.

Blood. The smell filled his head like helium. It mercilessly intruded on the fading scent of his wife's perfume, the fleeting smell of her favorite fabric softener on the comforter and night gown, the vanilla spice air freshener that lingered in the walls.

"Jane?" Lisbon called to him. He had closed his eyes and rubbed them violently with his empty fingers hoping to conceal the relentless storm of emotions that flooded his mind and body.

"Right," he answered and opened his eyes. "The other rope." He took several long strides to the other side of the bed, staring at his feet to avoid eye-contact with the Face.

He took Lisbon's small ankle in his hand to keep it steady. He felt her flinch and realized his hands were icy.

"Sorry..." he quietly apologized for his cold hands. He knew his blood had gone cold and his body numb when Red John started his torture of Lisbon. He couldn't help it.

Jane worked on the rope as quickly as possible, his hands beginning to tremble under the stress of the situation. The rope came undone.

"Cho!" Lisbon spoke as she moved off the bed to his side. He collapsed under the pain. "Cell phone," she demanded.

"Pocket." Cho grunted. Jane had joined them, and reached into Cho's pocket, thick blood coating his hand as as he pulled the phone out. Blood. Jane's stomach reeled again as the sight and smell mixed.

His wife.

Daughter.

In the bed.

Drenched...

"Jane! Give me that phone." Lisbon snatched it out of his hands and dialed. "Yes, a man has been stabbed; a California Law Enforcement Agent is in need of immediate medical assistance... Patrick Jane residence, 9332 Chelan Cherry Lane. Sacramento. Yes, it's 916 555 3838... Okay." Lisbon hung up and looked at Cho. "They're on their way, just hang in there. You're going to be okay."

Jane looked at his hands.

Blood.

He looked away... his sight fell on the the Face. His eyes blurred.

RED.

*I hope you had as much of a good time reading this story as I had writing it. I'm not happy with the abrupt ending, but I don't really know what else to do... Any suggestions? I kind of want the reader to tie-up loose ends on their own...*


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